Lost on the Inside
by Bexi
Summary: [Complete One Shot] One boy sits in his room and contemplates whether his life is really worth all the pain and humiliation he has endured over the years.


**_Title_**: Lost on the Inside

**_Author_**: Bexi

**_E-mail address_**: Madmangabexx@hotmail.com 

**_Disclaimer:_** I do not or ever will own the Yu-Gi-Oh series; they are all created and produced by the fine people at -_-??? wherever and whoever they are, therefore, I can claim no such profit from writing this piece of fanfiction.**__**

**_Summary_**: One boy sits in his room and contemplates whether his life is really worth all the pain and humiliation he has endured over the years. 

**_Rating_**: PG-13 due to language.

**_Genre_**: Angst

**_Author's notes_**: Just read and enjoy is what I can say. This story does not coincide with my '_Black Void'_ story, this is just a small fic standing on its own.  

He sat.  Not waiting for anything to come to pass, just sitting.  Everything in his mind was an uncanny blur that was slowly sucking him of life.  Taking every bright detail and shattering it to tiny shards that were unrecognisable.  His once life-filled eyes were nothing more that a dim shadow, hoarding many ghosts that refused to surface peacefully.  Each memory was a pain-filled stab that caused the wounds to bleed profoundly.  A reminisce of life was sickening. 

_What's possibly left that can't already make life seem as torturous and demanding as it already is?_

An inaudible sigh escaped his lips.

_What's left to consider?_

The heavy load on his heart was more than enough consideration.  A twirling and vehement vortex, cutting furiously into his mind, deep sealing any eloquent thoughts and emotions from seeping through.  The inner conflict of his mind causing his breathing to elevate.  

It was all to confusing for him to fully comprehend rationally.  What was going on?  Deliberations he never knew existed were confronting his inner self, trying to break down the strong barriers that hoarded the real him.  

The real Joseph Wheeler that was trapped within himself, his core frozen and numb.  Waiting to be saved from the nothing he had become.

Sometimes he felt things, as he would lie inside himself.  He felt dejected from the outside world he thought he knew.  He could escape from the hard knock life he was raised into.  He could hide away while something else took over.  

The further he was away from people, the more he could fall into himself, closing into the sweet rhapsody that seemed so near.  

_What's to stop me from reaching out and grasping it?_

Sometimes he would blink and find himself facing the past, the dark life that he was forced to participate in.  Sometimes he was used as a sympathy act to gain benefits for his father and other times he was used as an emotional punch bag.

His liquid brown eyes closed and he could see himself, the choking and entwining darkness biting at his skin.  A small boy in the corner of a cold and lonesome closet, knees brought close to his chest and his head hunched over them.  Sobs cutting through the darkness.  A thunderous bang and a furious grunt coming from the door, the booming voice of his father, as menacing as the clingy shadows.  A haunting silence filled the cramped area and it was obvious that the last roaring bang had indicated that his father had left the house and wouldn't return until late.  

His dark-tinted lashes fluttered open upon the horrendous memory to reveal hollow eyes that stared blankly at the plain white wall.  Eyes that were once so full of life and then evident pain, eyes that called out to be loved and craved affection, eyes that never received their wish.

Inside, he still felt like that small, intimidated child, locked inside the closest for hours upon end, waiting patiently for his father to return home.  Only to have the man collapse in a drunken stupor on the floor after he released him.

_I can stop the pain if I wish to … it wouldn't be very hard at all._

He recalled the constant humiliation he was forced to become accustomed to -- being belittled and criticised in public.  The golden-haired teen cringed whenever his friends would visit him, wishing he could curl up in the corner and just close his eyes in hope he would forget.  The deep lurching feeling that would linger in his stomach as he received pitied glances from his friends.  He longed for the floor to suddenly open up and swallow him whole, sucking him in to the deep, dark pit of oblivion. 

_He would always tell me stuff in the confines of our home -- but did he have to say that stuff in front of my friends?_

It wasn't always just a quick slip on the tongue that caused the sluggish and domineering alcoholic to react the way he did.  Joey had come to the finalised conclusion that his father found some strange and sick entertainment in breaking his confidence, showing no -- or very little -- affection towards him, intimidating him -- no matter how hard Joey forced himself not to show it.  Basically, the _so-called_ father was breaking his son into small pieces and moulding him into the person he had become today.

_I wonder what the difference would have been if my father said the occasional, "I love you, son," or, "don't let it get you don't, son, I believe in you," or even, "son," followed by a genuine smile.  Anything's better than the usual, "my son, the pathetic poor excuse for a human being.  You disgust me, I'm ashamed to be your father!" _

_He was ashamed of me!?_

That conversation had ended in a deep downward spiral of low cast thoughts and muses.  He couldn't even begin to recall what he had said to infuriate his father so.  Just being alive, he had considered so many times over.

Joey snuck at glance over to the clock on the drawers, sighing and shaking his head, disgusted.  The bright ruby numbers blinking 09:53.  It wasn't even ten o'clock and his father was already down the local pub, sitting on the bar stool, knocking back the pints as he stared at the barmaids' cleavage and attempted to flirt without sounding too drunk.  Joey recollected all the times he had to collect his father from the pub and try to convince him to come home, speaking to the older man in a slow voice, as if he were speaking with a child.  

It had come to the point now, where it was too much for Joey to handle.  How was he supposed to help his father if he didn't want any help?

_It wouldn't take much to end it._

He stared down at the item down on his bed; it's long black handle with silver studs in it, the sharp blade gleaming from the light on in the room.  The blonde reached over and grasped the handle with the palm of his hand, holding up the blade and reflecting the light onto the wall.  He fingered the sharp point, looking intensely at the silver.

_One slip and it'd all be over … just like that._

Joey lowered the blade and didn't bother to consider his actions as he threw the blade down to the floor and heard it clatter. 

"I knew you wouldn't," said a soft and gentle voice from within the room.  

Joey looked at her, for the first time coming up to his room.  Her soft glistering violet eyes meeting his deep hazel ones, the expression within them speaking louder than words.  

"Thank you," he muttered in a strong tone, the seriousness coming from his voice seeming so un-characteristic to her.

"What for?" she asked him, pushing herself from the chair and walked over to him, her sudden movement causing her light blonde hair to sway.

Joey felt the corner of the bed dip under her weight.  He took her soft hands in his and looked deep into the eyes of Mai Valentine, smiling genuinely.

"For being there.  For listening…" He slowly took her hands to his lips and planted a soft kiss on them.  "…For helping me."

END

**Additional author's notes:**

You didn't _really _think I'd kill Joey, did you? I've taken a different approach with this than I did with 'Black Void'.  Did you notice that I never mentioned anything about Joey's father physically harming the lad?  

I really don't know what inspired me to write this.  Was it trying to get in to writing 'Black Void'?  Or maybe it was the lessons we did on child abuse at college?  Its disturbing to think that actually happens out there, and especially when it very bad cases.  It makes me wonder why I write about it, I guess I just want to get the word out that child abuse happens.  I hope I never have to deal with a case after I leave college and get a job working with young children.

Well, on to a happier issue, I do actually have a story that coincides with this fic, a much longer one, but when I get around to writing that is a mystery.  Life isn't exactly being nice to me at the moment, well, nice isn't the word really.  More like being stabbed in the back and kicked repeatedly while I'm down … you know the saying … life's a bitch!

Gotta go, I'm being assessed at the nursery this afternoon, wish me luck!

Bye, and tell me if you want to read the fic I have in mind.

**Bexi**                                                    


End file.
